Oh look, some more Paris essay-eque things:
The Paris Relapse
So you go on with your life like you never saw Paris; like you never ran your hands over the spines of ancient books in those green boxes along the Seine, like you never ran out of a café and left your hot chocolate waiting to catch a glimpse of the Republican Guard, like you never went weak in the knees when you laid eyes on la Notre Dame at night, all lit up and glowing.
And then you open that folder on your computer of the pictures that you took while you were there.
And it's the heat wave all over again.
You close your eyes as tight as you can and it still doesn't conjure up those priceless hours of pure inspiration that you experienced, so you dig out that coat you wore when you saw the l'Arc de Triomphe and even though the coat is long and black and all wool felt and it's August, you slide it over your shoulders and you can smell the cigarettes and the coffee and the bakeries that smell like home, although you can't quite tell why.
And you wrap the scarf that you bought in a little boutique around your neck just the way you wore it there and then something in your mind clicks.
And you declare that you have to go back to Paris; that you have to see the Eiffel Tower one more time and drink little strong coffees out of pretty little mugs; that you will absolutely die if you don't see the golden gates of Versailles again.
TTFN
M.K. Wissler
P.S. I am trying to conjure up interesting things to write on here, but as far as I can tell, I should focus on the fact that I'm having trouble meeting my word count for Camp NaNoWriMo. Later, okay?
